Now that I’m 65 and officially old, I’ve developed a new ambition-to be really old. I have dreaded old age and now that it is here, I am thinking that nothing could be better than to be really old.

I think of all I have to look forward to: Loving a good man, the purple coneflowers in my garden, getting up in the morning to write. There is so much more.

Sunlight filtered through green leaves, the dreams of my nieces and nephews, their beautiful clear eyes and skin, my desire to show my students new ways of connecting to clients, and the shine of my horses’ coats, their smell, the sound of their chewing on hay, the rhythm of the ride, the joy and fear in my little dog.

What about wrinkled skin and the patronizing  younger people? What about age discrimination multiplied by the effects of being a woman? To youth I say, “You who are young will one day be old, quicker than you think. Know that we are in this together. That is all that matters.”

What about debilitation, weakness, lack of energy? I want to yield to them all, accept what comes, while still pushing the river in the direction I want to go. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know answers, but as I did in my youth, I will to give myself over to the mystery. I will also give myself over to the small beauties of everyday life that leap into me like an arc of electricity between poles.

The losses that old age brings are severe. Yes, they are, and loss comes to youth, too. Loss spares no one. It spans the first and final draw of breath. Loss hurts us. We mourn. We rail against them. In the end, if we are lucky, we yield, accept, know that we are alive, in full consciousness, driven by loss to cherish each other and every beautiful thing. If we are lucky, we look loss square in the face and say, “I am not afraid. You cannot take everything from me. I remember. I will see even if I lose my sight.”

What if I go senile, get brain cancer, lose brain function? What about becoming disabled, confined to bed or a wheelchair? What then? Will I still want to grow in really old age? I don’t know. The mystery again.

When my time comes, I hope I look death in the face and say, “I knew you would come.” By dying, I will learn what if anything lies beyond what I now know through my senses. I will know what those who have gone before me know. I would like to know what they know right now.

Some things are worse than death. I do not yet know what they are for me. When the loss is severe enough that I want death to come to me, what will I do? Wait. I will wait and see, but I may have a stash of pills at the ready.